Joe unbuttoned his pants, zipped down his fly, then pushed them down. He gripped the back of Daemon’s neck, jerking him back. A sharp metal sound slapped out from the handcuffs fastened over his wrists being pulled taut. Joe put his face close to Daemon’s ear, his nose close to his cheek. Joe’s dick slanted right and his hand gripped its girth so that he could guide himself into Daemon, thrusting up. The boy whined out in a high pitched shrill.
Henry kept his eyes locked on Joe’s bare butt pumping up in sharp jerks. Loud whimpers drifted through the room. Joe clutched the garrote’s cord and yanked back, noises being seized from Daemon. Nick and Ted gawked at the scene before them. Joe’s body shuddered. He stepped back from the whining boy then, out of breath.
Nick came up, inserting himself with a merciless thrust. The cries increased in desperation. Henry couldn’t take his eyes away. His dick hard again, he turned, went into his closet, and stepped over to a chest. He opened it, and pulled out the whip with the spikes.
The strobe lights outside turned off; the dance floor became pitch black.
A guttural noise wafted inside the closet door. Henry stepped out into the blackness, the whip’s handle in his hand. He did his best to make out the details in the shadows. The only light came from the moonlight passing through the windows high above him. Henry froze in place. Where’s everyone? His eyes came back to Daemon.
That’s not Daemon.
A muscled man stood with his hands fastened over his head, tattoos covering his entire back and shoulders. Unintelligible words drifted out from under his gag. The man turned his face, the tattoo of the devil coming visible. Joe. Henry took one step back, his foot slipped on the slick floor, he fell to one knee. His hand came down, his finger dipping into warm liquid. He snapped his head down. Nick lay not far away, his hands clutching his throat. Hard to tell, but blood looked to be spraying from between his fingers.
Fuck. Run.
The shadows moved, and a clawed hand gripped Henry’s wrist and squeezed. Henry cried out in surprise and pain. A hoarse voice spoke in his ear – something old, something evil. Henry whined, “W-what the fuck!”
“I own him now.”
“W-what?”
The clawed fist tightened and bones crackled. He shrieked out in agony. “What do you want?”
“Flesh.”
Henry wanted to vomit as his body trembled. “What are you?”
“Something that covets you. Needs you.” The voice growled, “Whip him. Then I will take you both.”
Henry looked over to Joe. Ted’s severed head lay close to Joe’s foot.
“Do it. Now.”
Henry pulled back his shaky arm and let the whip blur down in the air; the lash struck Joe’s back. A raw bloody streak formed diagonally over his back and shoulders.
The thing tittered behind him. “Good. Good.”
Henry swung over and over again, and sweat dripped from his brow, falling into his eyes. Out of breath finally, he stopped, taking in deep inhalations. Gnarly nails slid over Henry’s cheek. He flinched. “No. I’ll keep going.”
“Why? He’s mere hamburger now.”
Henry stared at Joe. The man’s body was distorted and disfigured. His back nothing but a furrowed, raw and bloody surface, his elbows and wrists angled wrong. His head hung down, tiny wheezes coming out from Joe’s lips.
“No. No. I can continue.”
“Shhh.” A scaly hand gripped his chin, turned his face, and Henry whimpered. He stared up at something with a scaly face, dark beady eyes, razor sharp teeth extending from its lips.
That’s not Daemon. ... But it has to be. He’s the creature.
Daemon leered, and it spoke. Its voice a cross between a growl and a purr. “This place feels so good. You think?”
A soft cry came from Henry’s mouth. “What are you?”
The creature leaned forward. “Eater of darkness.” He opened his mouth, wider and wider, and those teeth chomped down over Henry’s torso. Sharp pain flared from his shoulders and chest, and skin ripped and liquid splashed over the floor.
Blackness.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hunter’s Name: Daemon
Age: Unknown
Daemon marched down the sidewalk of New York City and whistled to himself. A woman dressed in business clothes, her cell held up to her head, stopped talking and looked at the young man passing.
Daemon stepped into a café. He picked up a newspaper from a table and sat down at the counter.
A pretty young waiter with black hair came up. “Hey, can I help you – Oh my God, your eyes are beautiful.” The man held his hand to his chest. “Sorry. Or not, if you’re gay.” He winked at Daemon.
Daemon regarded the young man. “I’m into hardcore shit. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t hang.”
The waiter stared down at him, is jaw unhinged. “Shit, dude. Don’t have to be such a fucking douche. And, I’ve done some BDSM.”
Daemon leaned on his elbows. “Trust me. Not like the kind I like. And besides, you don’t have anywhere close to the right scent. It’d never work.”
The waiter threw his hands up in the air. “Okay. It’s official. You’re an asshole.” He stormed away, went to a waitress, and pointed towards Daemon’s table.
The woman approached the table with some form of timidity, her lips pursed, and asked, “May I take your order, sir?”
Daemon grinned. “Actually, yes – a glass of OJ and steak. Rare.”
She nodded and left.
Daemon looked down and admired the front news story’s picture.
Five corpses hung from lamp posts.
The bi-story headline read, “Owner of Bar Eviscerated; May be a Serial Killer.”
He smiled, leaned back, and read the history of The Dirty Hole. The business had started out as something he’d never have found tasty when it first was the Wilson Club, but darkness had come in the 1940s, when the most recent owner’s grandfather massacred the patrons.
Author’s Note
Thank you for reading FLESH STALKER. I do appreciate you choosing this story and, if you are anti-horror, I hope you figured out early on that this was not any fairy tale because if you are reading this, then I’ll assure you that you’re not a hater of horror. The antagonist Daemon debuted in the first novel I wrote, titled FRESH MEAT. His ‘name’ in Fresh Meat was Punk, Green-Eyed-Punk, etc., or in other words, he had no name. I decided to ‘flesh’ this character out more in this series, and came to know him much better. He is like a modern day version of Dexter, except in that, of course, Daemon is a demon who feasts on flesh and hardcore S&M sex.
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FLESH STALKER: 1: The Dirty Hole (The Tales of Daemon the Demon Boy) Page 3